Distance
by sfiddy
Summary: Lacey wants some of Mr. Gold's best whiskey. He's unimpressed with her palate, but offers to make her a deal for some- She can earn it. PWP. Voyeurism.


Hi again. PWP isn't really my forte, but apparently I can do it when it calls. Here's my take on the Lacey/Gold dynamic.

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Lacey wants some of Mr. Gold's best whiskey. He's unimpressed with her palate, but offers to make her a deal for some. She can earn it.

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Note: Many thanks to Flameysaur for the emergency pre-read!

A gift fic for audreyii_fic. She knows why.

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** Distance**

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Mr. Gold did not believe in maintaining an extensive liquor cabinet. If one entertained, one should always have the basics, and always top shelf. If one held an event, it was acceptable to extend your holdings, and extend it to more budget-minded selections for mixers, reserving the best for those who preferred their spirits neat or minimally adulterated.

Mr. Gold did not hold events, and he generally did not entertain, so he normally had no more than three bottles on hand. Two were excellent scotches (one had to be islay, that was a law for a Scotsman) and one bottle of good vodka for any eventuality.

His definition of what was excellent or good was a far cry from Lacey's.

"C'mon Gold, just pour me one."

Mr. Gold was nursing two fingers of his favorite whiskey. He'd never acquired a taste for bourbon, finding it too hot on his palate, preferring the cooler profile and more noticeable smoke and wood of Scotch. "Have another vodka. I got it for you."

Lacey shrugged, intentionally causing the strap of her dress to fall and expose her shoulder. Mr. Gold rolled his eyes when she wiggled to make it fall further, leaving the swell at the top of her breast open to his view, as well.

"I don't want vodka." She sauntered over and stood in front of his chair, dress barely covering the business as she nearly straddled his left thigh. He set his paper down as she bent, giving a spectacular view of the valley between her breasts. "I want to know what you taste like."

Mr. Gold looked up and sighed. "Your palate is deplorable, or were you somehow impressed that the selection at Granny's specifies that the wine is made with real grapes?"

Lacey stood and set her hands on her hips. Belle's curves stood out this way, but Belle would never stand this way. Lacey struck poses intended to impress and entice. Belle was just enticing as she was.

"I drink at Granny's because the food is terrible."

"Everyone knows the food is terrible. I'm still not pouring you a forty dollar shot."

She propped a knee on the arm of his chair. He could feel her heat. "I'll sip it." She purred. "Slowly."

When he looked up again she was licking her lips and looking him over. She loved it when he was like this, nearly unattainable because he was, in fact, just that. He accommodated her, because Belle's body had needs, but couldn't bring himself to touch Lacey. Not when Lacey spoke with Belle's tongue, caressed him with her hands, and tried to cradle him with Belle's thighs.

He'd been there before. The difference was that Belle had been there, too.

"I'll tell you what, Lacey. How about we make a deal?"

Lacey raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What kind of deal do you want to make? I warn you, I can drive a very hard bargain." She punctuated her words with slight rolls of her hips, barely brushing his arm with her pelvis and grazing herself on the arm of his chair.

"You want some of my best whiskey, dearie? You're going to have to earn it." Mr. Gold swept out a hand and a low angled chair materialized from mist a few feet behind her. "Have a seat."

Lacey kept her eye on him as she lowered herself in to the chair slowly, holding the arms, giving him every opportunity to look up the tight, hitched skirt as she did.

The minx. He should have known.

She settled into the chair and rested her arms loosely, leaning into the angled cushion. "Well?"

Mr. Gold sipped his drink. "Tell me what you want, Lacey."

"I want your drink." She smirked. "I want you."

Mr. Gold jiggled his glass and the ice rattled, sending faint water swirls through the amber. "I think you can do better than that."

Her eyes hooded, gleaming and flashing in the soft light of his home office. "I want to feel you on me. Against me. In me."

"Where would I start?"

Lacey undulated lightly as Belle's face and throat began to color. "You'd start here." She touched her lips, dragging her fingertips over her lower lip, pulling just enough to show her white teeth. "And you'd go here. Then here." Mr. Gold watched Lacey as she traced fingertips over her jaw (where Belle had enjoyed his soft kisses), her neck (Belle liked to be licked there), and across her collarbones (when he nuzzled Belle there, she would cradle his head like the things that rattled inside were precious rather than demonic).

Lacey's fingers tugged at the top of the dress. Restless knees moved up and down, waiting for him.

"What would I do next?"

"You'd undo my dress. You wouldn't make it disappear, because you like the unwrapping part as much as you like the gift." She arched her back, jutting her breasts forward. The dress pulled and exposed a thin pink arch of one nipple. The dress loosened and she caught him staring. "You love this part, don't you? You get these?" She pulled the top of the dress down and palmed herself in an act of delicious obscenity. He'd held those breasts and swallowed the moans Belle made when he suckled her. Once, he was rather busy elsewhere and she'd held them for him.

Mr. Gold took a larger swallow and savored the punishing burn. "Hold them up."

Lacey pushed her breasts together and arched up. "Now you're stalling, Gold."

"You're impatient." He growled. "What am I making you wait for?"

"I want you in me. Inside."

His eyes must be dilating. His breath was coming a bit faster, too. "Where? Show me."

Lacey needed no encouragement. The hands that had been caressing her chest drifted down her belly, past her waist, and beyond the already scandalously short and sequined monstrosity she wore. Her fingers grasped the hem and pulled slowly, very slowly until she bared a trim patch of curls to him. She spread her legs, exposing her shining, pink sex to him.

She trailed a hand along her thigh, around her hip and damn it all, he watched every move she made. Beads of moisture sprang above his upper lips as she dipped down, opening herself for him and slowly drawing her fingers through.

"Here." She looked him in the eye as she moaned. "I want you right here."

"Would you want my tongue?" That had shocked Belle, but she loved it every time. "My hands? I am quite talented with them."

"Yes." She hissed, and moved her fingers against herself. "You'd start with your hands. Like this." Lacey stroked slowly on the side, grazing against the center but never going over it.

"Yes, I would. Then I'd speed up just a touch." Lacey complied. When he could see creamy liquid smear the chair, he smiled. "Then I'd switch. I'd put my mouth on you just to taste all my good work." Lacey's body gave a jolt. "I'd suck you and prop your legs on my shoulders."

Lacey moaned and paused only to lift her legs and rest them on the arm rests as he kept up his narrative. She was hunched up, providing him an excellent view of her shining, slick fingers and her reddening folds. Her sex was thickened and soft, and his Belle was so easy to please this way. So sensitive and ready.

"I'd push my fingers in as I ran my tongue over you." Lacey had two fingers inside in seconds, and opened her eyes in a moment of bliss. It got harder for her now, though. It was one thing to pleasure a woman with your mouth and hands, it was another to expect her to do it on her own. He raised two fingers and wafted magic across the room.

Lacey arched again. "Oh, God."

"What am I doing to you now, Lacey?"

"It's more." She drew her fingers out and concentrated on her frantic rubbing. "Oh God, it's you. You're… how can you do that?"

He knew what he was doing. There were nerve endings in so many lovely places, and he sought them out, tripped them, triggered them, and popped the lids off in every place so he could watch her chest redden and her mouth form an open mouthed, perfectly silent scream. Belle was quiet too, often unable to breath at all when she came. When she went limp underneath or collapsed onto him, she had to heave deep breaths and pant to make up for it.

When it came for Lacey today, she did the same. He could almost pretend. Almost.

She slumped in the chair, loose and sated, and let out soft moans as she caught her breath. Mr. Gold stood, ignoring the awkward state he was in and settled a few ice cubes in a fresh, hand-blown crystal tumbler. He did not care for cut crystal, it seemed gauche.

He poured three fingers of his best whiskey and set it on the table next to Lacey.

She was just starting to tug at her dress as he sat back down, one hand balanced on the handle of his cane and the other holding his drink.

Lacey picked up her glass and took a sip. She smiled, droopy and content. "Cheers."

He drained his glass. "That's my girl."

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And there you go. Johnny Walker, anyone?


End file.
